I got married a year ago today. In Vegas. It was the happiest day of my life. I was full of plans and dreams and hopes for the future. I knew that my husband would soon been gone, for training and then for deployment. I knew that I would miss him terribly. I knew that it would be an immense burden on the both of us, to spend our first year as a married couple apart, with him dealing with the day in and day out realities of living and fighting in a war zone and with me having do to deal with the day in and day out realities of not really having my partner to lean on when things got too much. And, while I'd never discourage any military personnel for doing their job and I know that it is a job that I could not do, I've never been one of those "ra-ra" military types. I don't seek out men and women in uniform to have relationships with and, in many ways, I'd much prefer to just stick with civilians.
Over this past year, I really have tried. I've tried to get my own demons under control enough that I could be productive enough for the both of us, to keep his life running in the states while he was gone. I tried to keep the plans that we had made going. I tried to keep my own life going on the paths that I wanted it to go on. I tried to be a good person, a good wife. But it never seemsed to be enough. Enough to change the situations that he created on his own end. Enough to stop me from my own retaliations. Enough to keep me sane.
This week has been the perfect storm of bullshit. I had so much stuff that I wanted to accomplish. I thought that my stellar performance of moving BT's stuff to the place that he was going to stay once he returned at the end of the week would be the beginning of a good week. Of course, I hurt myself in the process so some of the more physically taxing projects that I wanted to get done have been slow going. While I did make it to the appointments that I made for myself Wednesday, just as things were starting to look up, I found out that my uncle's white cell count is down again. My mom had to leave almost immediately to drive the three hours to help take care of him. If he was less stubborn, one of us might already be out there helping him all the time, but he wants to do as much of this on his own as he can. While no one is talking about putting him in the hospital yet, we all know that it is a possibility, which will put off his next round chemo even longer.
Then last night, I stayed with TyRoy, feeling much too fragile to stay at my folks house with only my step-dad, who wouldn't notice if I had a techno-disco party in the house, much less if I left. Somehow, it only deteriorated into fighting. I was/am worried about getting the paperwork for the divorce from BT through, especially as everytime I talk to him he tells me about another new assignment he might be getting which will take him away from the metro area. My original plan had been to do the paperwork myself, take it to the country clerk, take his copies to him, take him to the bank where he could get his notarized and we could also take my name off his bank account and then we'd submit the papers to the court. Since only one of us has to be at the court for the hearing, if everything is signed and nothing is contested, it should be a walk in the part after that. But I suppose I was hoping for a bit more time after he got home in which to take care of the papers, like a week or two. In dealing with my uncles's health at the moment, just having moved BT's stuff out, our anniversary, and BT's return home, I just am not emotionally up to the task of doing this right now. But I felt all this pressure to do it RIGHT FUCKING NOW, as early as going and doing it Saturday morning when the bank was open. It was just too much.
Today, I had appointments all set up. I even got up, dressed, hair done, the whole nine. But I made the mistake of sitting down and watching TV in the 30 minutes that I had before I had to leave for my first appointment. I ended up sleeping through both of them. With my day feeling like a waste and the spector of my anniversary hanging over my head, I just took some pills, not enough to hurt, but just enough to wipe me out. Everytime I woke up, I took more and went back to bed. TyRoy found me curled up in the comforter, completely out of it, when he got home from work. I just don't know what to do anymore. I don't know what to feel. I don't know what the "appropriate action" is. And I don't know what the fuck I"m going to do once I finally get all the stuff with BT and I sorted out and over with. I had all these dreams and hopes. But they all involved him. Hell, all my dreams and hopes always seem to involve some man and my relationship to him. I don't know what I'm going to do when I have to find out what I want for myself, from myself.
I miss that day a year ago when I was the happiest woman in the world.